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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26474101">Wilted Petals and Drifting Feathers</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/GodsHumbleClown/pseuds/GodsHumbleClown'>GodsHumbleClown</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Antisemitism, Bird Symbolism, Birds, Cemetery, Churches &amp; Cathedrals, Death, F/M, Flower Symbolism, Ghosts, Nature, Past Jack/Sarah, Religion, Religious Imagery &amp; Symbolism, Symbolism, idk what kind of au this is</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 09:28:33</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>11,567</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26474101</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/GodsHumbleClown/pseuds/GodsHumbleClown</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Every day, sunup to sundown, Bryan Denton watched over the cemetery.<br/>He talked with his boys, though they never did talk back.<br/>Until they did.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Sarah Jacobs/Jack Kelly, Spot Conlon/Sarah Jacobs</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>69</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>80</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chrysanthemum</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>"Chrysanthemums have different meanings across cultures and religions.<br/>They symbolize fidelity, friendship, modesty, loyalty, devotion, cheerfulness, longevity and good spirits.<br/>They can also symbolize happiness, joy and beauty.</p><p>Some cultures recognize Chrysanthemum as a symbol of death."<br/>Source : A to Z flowers</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Every day, sunup to sundown, Bryan Denton watched over the cemetery behind Mulberry Hill Catholic Church. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"His boys" he called the little gravestones, always cleaned and cared for with mind to the smallest of details. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Who else would watch them? Nobody, that was who. Denton's job as sexton was to keep the old church clean and cared for, and that included the cemetery out back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Really, he paid most attention to the cemetery.  Sure, he would dust the pews and make sure the old organ was turned, caulk up drafty windows and put a new coat of varnish on the heavy gold-pine doors. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But none of that was nearly as important to Denton as looking out for his boys was. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Newsboy Cemetery" the ancient bronze sign declared from aside the creaky gate. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>What that gate was meant to keep out, Denton had no idea. It didn't keep deer out, and certainly not any neighboring delinquents who thought it funny to spraypaint the headstones. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bryan sighed, gazing out at the mess left for him from a rowdy pre-Halloween party that surely Father Kloppman hadn't been notified of. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shuffled one shoulder, creakier than yesterday but not quite creaky enough for him to feel old just yet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Morning, boys," he called out over the mossy gravemarkers.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>No response, of course, but he set to work anyway. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Half the stones didn't have names, just dates, but he stopped to talk with them anyway. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bryan rolled up his sleeves and filled his bucket with water from the tap outside. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He grabbed some soap and a bristle-brush and set off to get started. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Morning Louis," he said, setting down his bucket beside the first headstone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Best be cleaning this mess up, hm?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bryan set to work scrubbing the obscene symbols off the stone marked Louis B (16 and 3 months old at the time of his death), half the name missing but still enough to read and be friendly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Wonder if you were the kind of boy to graffiti around the churchyard. I hope not."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bryan sat back on his heels. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Sounds like you were too busy working."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A croak from the twisted old tree beside him caused Denton to look up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Morning, Edgar," he called to the raven who watched all goings-on in the woods surrounding the churchyard with an inquisitive, if judgemental, eye. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Edgar flapped his wings and croaked again, gliding down to land a few stones away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Leave David be," Denton scolded, shooing the bird away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Goodness knows he's earned his rest."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>David Benjamin Jacobs (only just turned 17) had the most detailed stone in the cemetery, besides what Denton could only assume was his brother, Lesham Joshua (just shy of 11).</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Those two were the only ones with full names, down to the middle, and short epitaphs beneath them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Beloved son and brother" both read. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Below that, a bit of script that Denton had to go to the library to look up. ת נ צ ב ה</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"May his soul be bound up in the bond of eternal life."</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Upon closer inspection, Denton saw something that certainly did not make him happy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The swastika splayed crudely across both little stones filled Denton with a rage he hadn't felt in quite some time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That had to go, immediately. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Louis, pardon the interruption, I'll be back to finish up for you in just a minute," he apologized to the half-cleaned headstone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"David and Lesham demand my immediate attention." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Denton set to work scrubbing at the horrible symbol, cleaning bright, ugly red paint from the cracks in the stone as gently as he could manage. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Edgar," Denton said with a nod to the bird, now perched on the fence railing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Can't leave this be one second more."</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>No, you certainly cannot</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Edgar seemed to say, an indignant ruffle of his feathers loosening one to float to the ground like a shadowy black leaf.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The bird glared down at Bryan, clearly offended at being shooed away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man wasn't particularly concerned; he'd share his sandwich this afternoon, and all would be forgiven. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After a good morning's work, all the paint was scrubbed off, toilet paper was bagged away, and the gate was back on its hinges. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bryan stepped back to look at his handiwork. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was still more to be done, of course. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There were weeds to be pulled, and the few remaining flowers, largely chrysanthemums, needed trimmed and watered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sun was still low in the sky, Bryan noted. He had plenty of daylight left, and what a lovely day it was. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crisp autumn air crackled the leaves, and he could ever so faintly hear the creek still trickling away back behind the woods. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hullo! Denton!" Called a voice from the wide church doors. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A smile came over his face before Bryan could think to put it there. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Afternoon, Father Kloppman," he said with a wave of one arm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Any chance you saw anyone hanging around the cemetery last night?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bryan would </span>
  <em>
    <span>love</span>
  </em>
  <span> to be able to phone some parents if at all possible, though he </span>
  <em>
    <span>highly </span>
  </em>
  <span>suspected it was those Delancey boys messing about where and when they should know better than to be.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Father Kloppman picked his way down the cobbled path and through the creaky old gate. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No, what happened? Is something wrong?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The old priest could hardly be expected to hear whatever ruckus the culprits had gotten up to, of course, but that didn't make Bryan any less disappointed.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Someone messed things around quite a bit in there. I spent the better part of the morning cleaning up."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Father Kloppman frowned, clearing his throat in irritation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I still think I should invest in a guard dog," he grumbled. "Whatever Bishop Pulitzer has to say about it."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Denton laughed, partly at his friend's very thinly veiled contempt for his stuck-up superior, and partly at the thought of the old man leading a Hound of the Baskervilles type dog down the street for a walk. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It would be just like Father Kloppman to do it, too. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bryan stretched, rolling his shoulders back and revelling in the rare treat of a warm October sun. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'd best be getting back to work. These boys won't tidy up after themselves."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Edgar cawed in agreement. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh, shoo, you silly old bird! Ought to invest in a cat, too."</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Crocus</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>"Crocuses symbolize youth, cheerfulness and gladness."</p><p>A-Z Flowers</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Every evening, just after sundown, the Newsboys formerly of Duane Street, Manhattan stepped out of their stones from which they'd been watching the day's goings-on, and basked in the moonlight.</p><p>Or they did on most evenings, anyway. </p><p>"Can't believe those Delancey's came out <em> again,</em>" Racetrack (16, almost 17 at death) grumbled, looking for something to kick but finding nothing. </p><p>Denton did his job well, and left no scraps or litter worthy of a good angry kick. </p><p>Such unfortunate consideration. </p><p>"Ican't believe old Father Kloppman didn't wake up an' hear the ruckus they caused," Blink (16 and three months, and previously named Louis) declared, stretching his physically nonexistent but metaphysically lanky figure. </p><p>"I was six feet down and I <em> still </em> couldn't get a good day's rest."</p><p>He scowled up at Edgar's silhouette. "You got no problem squawking your stupid head off at our man Denton, but not a peep when Oscar an' Morris come here sprayin' everything in sight."</p><p>He wasn't quite annoyed enough to toss a stone; that was far too much effort for a ghost, especially one who'd just woken up.</p><p>And ghosts they were, the former inhabitants of the Duane Street Lodginghouse, now laid to rest in the Newsboy's Cemetery behind the little church. </p><p>"Quit whining," came an entirely too cheerful and self-assured voice from within the trees. </p><p>"At least we got Denton to come fix us up. Plenty of folks don't got even that."</p><p>Racetrack hopped up onto the fence bordering their home and waved to the approaching figure. </p><p>"Cowboy, what're you doin' in way out the woods?"</p><p>Jack Kelly (claimed to be 17, but his gravestone had long ago been vandalized beyond readability) wandered casually into the little clearing. </p><p>"Walking," he said, as if that explained anything at all. </p><p>"Well, yeah, I <em> saw </em> you was walking," Racetrack said, shoving Jack's shimmering, and slowly growing opaque shoulder. </p><p>Just a few minutes from now and he'd almost look like a living, breathing human, if you weren't looking close, and it was dark enough that you also wouldn't be able to tell a human from a ghost from a water buffalo. </p><p>So not much like a live human, really. </p><p>The boys didn't pass well for the living. </p><p>"Think it's gonna rain?" Elmer Sagloo (15 and 23 days) glanced nervously at the cloudy sky. </p><p>"I'm goin' inside if it rains." </p><p>Racetrack snorted. "Not like you'd get wet, would you?"</p><p>"Rain tickles," Elmer said, brushing a probably nonexistent speck of dust off his hat. </p><p>"I like rain!" </p><p>Tumbler (6 and a half at time of death) piped up, suddenly appearing from a pile of leaves like a cheery little crocus might do in the very early spring. </p><p>Tumbler hardly seemed dead sometimes, he had so much energy. It probably helped that he had died so young, with so much life leftover. </p><p>Skittery (nearly 18) rose up from his own grave and swung the little spirit up onto his shoulders. </p><p>"Rain does suit the mood better," he agreed, glancing nervously around at absolutely nothing. </p><p>"And keeps the Delanceys from coming out to mess things up."</p><p>"And makes things mucky!" Tumbler said cheerfully, as if mud and muck affected his life in any way at all. </p><p>Shoes didn't get muddy when they were hardly anything more than mist. </p><p>"Well, if it rains, I'm going into the church, " Elmer said stubbornly. "I'm not going to stay out here and get drenched, even <em> if </em> I won't be wet."</p><p>Drenched but not wet. Thus was the life of a ghost. </p><p>"Skitty, can we <em> go </em> now?" The conversation was no longer about mud, so Tumbler had no interest anymore. </p><p>Long-suffering Skittery just smiled patiently, his usual grouchiness gone for Tumbler's sake. </p><p>"Want to go look for deer?"</p><p>The boys greatly preferred the company of animals; much nicer than living humans who didn't even know they were there. </p><p>"Raccoons!" Tumbler squealed, excited at the prospect of a night's adventure. The previous night "inside", as they called their graves, had no doubt bottled up more energy than one would think a boy dead for going on a hundred years could possibly possess. </p><p>"You comin' cowboy?" Skittery turned over his shoulder to look at Jack. </p><p>Their unofficial leader was almost always ready to go mess about in the woods, and tonight was no different. </p><p>"How about Hide an' Squeak? I'll wake Mush up, he'll be Cat."</p><p>Mush (15 and eternally going on 16) spent nearly every spare moment curled up like a cat on top of his own grave. He said it was warmer above ground, even in winter. </p><p>Jack knew full well that the boy was lying; he was just claustrophobic and didn't want to stay in his grave. </p><p>Besides, warm or cold hardly mattered for a ghost boy. </p><p>"Mushy!" Jack hollered across the collection of cracked, mossy stones spotting the gently sloped hillside. </p><p>"Come play with us!" </p><p>The boys had quite the collection of inventive games, from hiding to wrestling to running. There was precious little for them to do besides play, locked up in the confines of the cemetery and churchyard. </p><p>Besides, they'd all spent far too much time in life hard at work; death gave them a freedom they'd never had before. </p><p>Mush rolled off his grave and a few yards down the hill, stopping at the big old tree right at the center of the cemetery.  </p><p>He looked up at the sky, the new moon peeking through the branches in almost a perfect crescent. </p><p>Lovely evening, too bad they were all dead. </p><p>Well, it couldn't be helped. Mush hopped to his feet and ran off behind Jack. </p><p>When Life-life was over and done with, you might as well enjoy the after-life. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Snowy Owl</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Snowy or white owl: Embodies magic, secrets, and foretelling.</p><p>- TheAstrologyWeb.com</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>David Jacobs was always irritable come October. He spent his days perched on the old stone fence, a boundary they couldn't cross, staring out down the twisting gravel path that led to the main road. </p><p>He swung his legs absently, frowning at the darkening treeline.</p><p>"Davey," Jack said, poking his friend in the side. "Why so gloomy?" </p><p>He already knew the answer, but David wouldn't talk about his feelings unless forced. Very un-ghostly, in all honesty. </p><p>Ghosts were meant to wail and moan their perils out to the four winds, not bottle things up. Going on seventy years, (give or take a few; Jack was never too interested in counting the days) and David still didn't know how to properly haunt. </p><p>"She hasn't come this year," David explained, tapping his hand absently on one knee. </p><p>"She normally comes before now."</p><p><em> She </em> meaning the last surviving member of David's immediate family, Sarah. She came once a year, at the end of summer, to visit David and Les' gravestones. </p><p>Always brought enough flowers for everybody, thoughtful as she was. Jack could almost pretend like she remembered <em> him </em> , but that was silly. He shook his head. This was about David, not him. No, Jack <em> wasn't </em>bottling up his emotions; just focusing on his friend. Jack didn't bottle. Never. </p><p>"She will come," Jack said with an encouraging smile, determined to stop thinking of himself. He hopped up onto the fence beside David, standing with arms spread wide to feel the little breeze that could penetrate his spiritly existence. The pine tree beside them smelled lovely in the breeze, and really, there was no reason for David to be this worried. Sarah would come. </p><p>"Only reason she wouldn't is if she was dead, and-"</p><p>"I <em> know, </em> Jack," David snapped, frown deepening as he stared into the sunset. </p><p>Jack continued talking patiently. </p><p>"And you'd know if she was, wouldn't you?"</p><p>If Sarah were dead, David would have felt it. They all would have. That was the way of things among the dead. </p><p>Still, the whole situation <em> was </em> worrying. </p><p>Sarah had never once missed a yearly visit, even when the normally calm and tame Cedar Creek flooded, rising up over six feet above the main road. The woman, fifty six at the time, had borrowed a canoe to cross, determined as always to visit her brothers. </p><p>Sarah Jacobs (she'd flatly refused to take her husband's name, and he was just fine with that, or at least, he was up to an unfortunate point.) was a very special woman. </p><p>For her to simply forget was…impossible.  She'd <em> never </em> forget them. </p><p>Never. </p><p>"Come on, Davey," Jack coaxed, nudging David with one foot. </p><p>"Moping around won't make Sarah come any faster. Come play." </p><p>David sighed, but turned to come back fully into the cemetery. He solidified a bit as soon as his shoes touched the leaf-littered ground. </p><p>Hallowed soil, the only soil fit for the souls of a soul, as the ghost community liked to say. </p><p>"Hide and Squeek?" David guessed correctly. Jack nodded, tossing an arm around David's shoulders. </p><p>"Mush is Cat. Come on, let's give him a real challenge this time."</p><p>David smiled a little bit, which was victory enough for Jack.</p><hr/><p>Denton sat back in bed, lost in thought as he nursed an ever-cooling cup of tea. </p><p>The church needed better security, that was just a fact. The boys didn't deserve to have their resting places disturbed, and not even have any proof of who did it. </p><p>A dog was unrealistic, of course, but surely the diocese could spare some money for a security camera or two? </p><p>He sighed. Bishop Pulitzer would never spring for that. Maybe it wasn't Denton's place to say it, but the man wasn't fit for his title at all. </p><p>Father Kloppman would have been a much better choice, though selfishly Denton had to be glad his friend wasn't appointed for that particular position. Who knew what kind of man would be vicar in his place? </p><p>His thoughts were interrupted by an unfamiliar sound from outside. A strange, almost barking sound, like a gust of wind harshly blown through a tunnel. </p><p>Well, he might as well take a look, Denton reasoned. </p><p>Wouldn't want to risk losing his house to a fallen tree if the wind had suddenly picked up. </p><p>But it wasn't a tree, nor was it the wind. It was a gorgeous snowy owl, terrifyingly close to his bedroom window. The great white bird perched on the branch of a pine tree, one of the few green trees left. It's yellow eyes stared at Denton as if awaiting the answer to a question that hadn't been asked. </p><p>Unsettling, to say the least, but a beautiful bird. </p><p>"A bit far south, aren't you, friend?" Denton said softly, as if the bird could hear him through the glass. </p><p>It hooted again, deep and guttural, before taking flight in a silent leap.</p><p>Somehow, Denton felt as if he'd missed out on an important phrase in a conversation that hadn't happened. </p><p>He shook his head. That was silly. It was just a bird who'd wandered a bit far south, that was all. </p><p>He climbed back into bed, clicked off the light, and slept fitfully. </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Reasonable timelines are for people who have stories that would work with that.<br/>Denton likes birds, and I like comments.<br/>Sorry i never update this, I'm insecure and feel like nobody reads it.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Pansies</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>"Pansies are believed to be connected to the afterlife, which is why you'll often see these flowers placed on tombstones"</p><p>-shared.com</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Denton should have known something strange was in the air the moment he stepped into the churchyard. </p><p>Pansies never grew this late into the autumn; they just didn't. </p><p>It was far too cold at night, and the little flowers were meant to bloom in spring and summer. </p><p>So when he walked up the gravel path leading to the sturdy doors of the church, the little pansies peeking up from amongst piles of leaves should have been a sign to Denton that things were not as they seemed, or should be. </p><p>But as it was, he just took note of the pleasant colors without much thought, and then settled into his work rhythm.</p><p>Sweeping, dusting, organizing. All the little things to keep the church up and running throughout the week, and ready for sunday services. </p><p>He didn't expect to trip over a little boy crouched behind the benches, that was for sure. </p><p>"Well, hello there!" Denton said with a smile, albeit a confused one. Hadn't the door been locked when he got here? How had the boy managed to get in? </p><p>Stained glass windows weren't known for their climb-in-able-ness. </p><p>The boy put a finger to his lips. "Shh. I'm hidin'."</p><p>Denton squatted down beside him.</p><p>"Hiding from what?"</p><p>"The fellas," he explained, peeking up to look around the church like a little groundhog. </p><p>"We's playing hide an' squeak." </p><p>Denton nodded as if he understood, hoping that, through friendliness, he might get a bit of information as to what part of the church needed blocked up to avoid breaking and entering. </p><p>"And how did you get in here?"</p><p>"Through the wall."</p><p>Well. That was an <em> unexpected </em> answer, to say the least.</p><p>"How did you get through the wall?" Denton asked, still playing along with whatever game this boy had come up with. </p><p>He cocked his head in confusion.</p><p>"Same as everybody else does. Like this!"</p><p>The boy held out a hand and ran it straight through the bench in front of him, as if it wasn't there at all.</p><p>Denton blinked twice, and then promptly fainted. </p><hr/><p>Sure, Skittery was glad that Tumbler finally turned up, after spending <em> hours </em> searching for him. He just hadn't expected for the kid to come running up in a panic because "a real live man saw me, and I think he's dead now."</p><p>Sure, Skittery was technically in his… fifties? Sixties? He couldn't remember anymore. But that wasn't important. Nobody ever taught <em> him </em> how to be an adult and do adult things.</p><p>They only had one adult spirit in the whole area, Miss Medda.</p><p>Miss Medda knew plenty about this kind of thing.  Or at least, more than anybody else would. </p><p>Yes, Medda would be a good person to ask, Skittery decided, lifting Tumbler onto his shoulders.</p><p>Hopefully this fellow in the church wasn't <em> actually </em> dead. They hardly had the space for <em> another </em> ghost. </p><hr/><p>Miss Medda wasn't <em> technically </em>a ghost, but a spectral whisp. </p><p>She glowed in such a lovely way, the many fabrics of her dress billowing as if in water, like they must have in death. </p><p>Drowned for being a witch. She wasn't, of course. Just an unlucky woman who was too kind for her own good. </p><p>"Hello, Skittery, Tumbler." She curtsied to each boy with a dramatic flair. </p><p>"What brings you to my loft?"</p><p>Miss Medda spent her days in the bell tower, conversing with the pigeons and one creaky old raven that flew in and out. </p><p>"We got a problem," Skittery explained. </p><p>"Tumbler saw a live one, and <em> he </em> saw Tumbler."</p><p>Medda's brow creased. </p><p>"That's not normal, now is it?" She hitched up her skirts and started for the stairs. </p><p>"Let's go see what we can do, hm?"</p><p>Skittery breathed a sigh of relief. Thank goodness for Medda, taking charge and knowing what was going on.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Woodpecker</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>"Commonly seen as magical creatures, woodpeckers are frequently identified with indigenous and primitive symbolism that weaves the capacity to communicate with entities from a realm that our eyes nor our minds can see."<br/>-richardalois.com</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Something was tapping away at Denton's head. It felt like a woodpecker, dead set on finding it's lunch somewhere inside his skull. </p><p>Bryan squeezed his eyes shut tighter, hoping to make the painful tapping go away. </p><p>The woodpecker was persistent, that was for sure. </p><p>Tap-tap-tap, poking at his temple.</p><p>"Is he dead?" </p><p>Apparently the woodpecker could talk. How odd. </p><p>Denton suddenly realized that the tapping was most likely not a woodpecker, but he  certainly didn't want to think about what it probably <em> was.</em></p><p>Ghosts did not exist. </p><p>They just didn't. </p><p>Besides, Denton had been working the graveyard for years, and never once had he seen a ghost before, so if there <em> was </em> such a thing as ghosts, he would have seen them by now. </p><p>With that in mind, he got the courage to open his eyes just a bit, to find himself surrounded by curious boys whose bright, open faces blended together in a mishmash of confusion. </p><p>He squeezed his eyes shut to stop the world from spinning, but when he opened them again, the faces were still blurry, and a bit translucent.</p><p>He struggled to sit up halfway, trying to puzzle out what exactly was going on. </p><p>"Good morning, mister!" Chirped a voice. Denton recognized the owner of it; the boy from the church. The one who'd- </p><p>Denton lay back down to keep from fainting again. The boy had run his entire <em> hand </em> straight through a sturdy wooden bench. That same hand was now poking him in the side, rather than the head, which was preferable and significantly less painful. </p><p><em> Surely this must be a dream </em>, Denton thought to himself. But the splitting headache he was now dealing with would suggest otherwise. Dreams, in his experience, were typically more confusingly nonsensical and less painful than this. </p><p>A woman dressed in billowing clothes that seemed laced by stardust reached out to help him to his feet. </p><p>"You've half passed," the woman explained. </p><p>"Half passed…" Denton rubbed his head, trying to remember <em> when </em> exactly the world had flipped on its head. </p><p>"You're dead, but only a little." </p><p>She said it so matter of fact that you would have thought <em> everybody </em>died "a little" every once in a while. </p><p>Denton looked down at himself, and was quite pleased to find that he hadn't turned ghostly himself, or at least, not yet. </p><p>"Now what?" He asked the woman, who seemed to be in charge of this whole affair.</p><p>She smiled kindly, patting him on the head as if he were a confused child and she a patient kindergarten teacher. </p><p>"Well, that is the question, isn't it." The woman's generous sleeves billowed as she gestured dramatically at nothing at all. </p><p>"I'm Medda, Medda Larkin. Accused and convicted, but truly innocent." She bowed low, offering her hand out to Denton. </p><p>He felt the situation required that he kiss it, which made her laugh, which in turn made him wonder if maybe he'd hit his head a bit harder than he had first thought.</p><p>"Bryan Denton."</p><p>She laughed again, and one of the smaller boys squealed with delight. "We knew that, silly! You're here every day!" </p><p>The boy from earlier reached out and grabbed Denton by the arm, tugging him to his feet. Thank goodness his hands stayed solid this time, and acted like they were <em> supposed to. </em></p><p>"Come on, Denton! You've got to meet <em> everybody </em>, and proper this time!"</p><p>Well, it didn't sound like he had a choice in this, now did he?</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Cottonwood</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>"...Some northern Mexican tribes associated cottonwoods with the afterlife, using cottonwood boughs in funeral rituals."<br/>-nativelanguages.org</p><p> </p><p>Happy Halloween!<br/>-GHC</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>TW, brief mention of past child abuse.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The boy, who had introduced himself as Tumbler, wasted no time in introducing Denton to all his friends. Normally good with names, the man found these blending together in his mind, most likely due to the fact that his head was still stuffed full of cottonwood fluff, if the way it felt was any indication. </p><p>David, Les, Snipeshooter. ("like the bird?" "Maybe. Or maybe marbles. He shoots loads of them!") So many names. </p><p>"And this is Jack! Jack knows all kinds of stuff, an' he comes up with real good games, don'tcha, Jack?"</p><p>The older boy, apparently called Jack, gave a cheeky grin, hopping from the crumbling stone wall into the cemetery proper. </p><p>"Nice to meet you for real, Denton." Jack offered his hand to shake, but Denton's went right through it. The boy frowned. </p><p>"That wasn't supposed to happen. Let's try again."</p><p>The second time around worked, which pleased Tumbler immensely. </p><p>"Come on, Denton, you gotta see my gravestone!"</p><p>And Denton was dragged along through the cemetery, nearly tripping over all the other stones that Tumbler seemed to forget he couldn't just float on over. </p><p>"See! T. Mullins." The boy gestured proudly at a humble little stone, one that Denton recognized as often becoming covered in cotton fluff thick as snow in springtime.</p><p>"T for Tumbler!"</p><p>The older boy, Jack, who'd apparently followed along, leaned and whispered to Denton, "it's for Timothy, but don't call him that."</p><p>"Why not?" </p><p>"His mama called him Timothy, and <em> she </em>stuck his hand in the stove."</p><p>The look Jack gave was of pure disgust. </p><p>"What? Why?"</p><p>"Said he was too noisy, the old hag." And he proceeded to spit on the ground, taking care to avoid any graves. </p><p>"Wish she was buried in here, I'd spit on her too."</p><p>Tumbler himself was blissfully unaware of the entire conversation, as he was deep in a one-sided one of his own with Edgar the raven. </p><p>"He says took you long enough," Tumbler giggled, turning back to Denton. </p><p>"He been trying to tell you about us for <em> ages </em>, and you never listened?"</p><p>Denton sat down in the leaves before he could faint again. </p><p>"He talks to you?"</p><p>Tumbler nodded cheerfully, bobbing Edgar, who'd decided to perch on his head, around. </p><p>"And he says you're a fool, cause you still ain't seen what's right in front of your face, and by the time you do see it, it'll be too late." </p><p>Tumbler was entirely undisturbed by this very foreboding announcement, but Denton couldn't say the same about himself. </p><p>"What on earth does that mean?" He asked the bird, who turned a judgemental, beady little eye to glare at him. </p><p>Edgar ruffled his feathers in what Denton assumed to be annoyance before taking flight up into the cottonwoods, as if the nonexistent leaves could hide his sulking. </p><p>Jack slung the giggling Tumbler up onto his shoulders like a happy little sack of potatoes.</p><p>"Come on, Tumbler, let's show Denton here 'round the right way." </p><p>Denton followed behind the boys, curious to learn of a ghostly tour of his cemetery, but still no small amount worried about what, exactly, Edgar meant by "too late."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Cardinal</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>"The cardinal was regarded as a spiritual messenger sent by those who died and went to heaven. The word cardinal comes from the Latin word meaning ‘hinge.’ The birds are therefore seen as hinges on the doorway between heaven and earth."</p><p>- legit.ng</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>David watched the road, arms crossed under his chin. </p><p>If only he could leave the cemetery; he could go see what was keeping Sarah away. She'd never been this late before. End of September was the farthest into the year her annual visits had ever been, but they were well past that now.</p><p>He shivered even without feeling the cold. </p><p>Surely she wouldn't forget. Sarah had never forgotten them. </p><p>He twisted his head at a shrill chirrup from the branches above, a little red cardinal watching him curiously. </p><p>Sarah had always liked to watch the birds, especially cardinals. "So cheerful," she always said. Mama said that too. </p><p>David wiped at a few stray tears. He missed her too. Esther and Mayer Jacobs were buried together in a different cemetery, and he hadn't seen either since they died within a week of one another all those years ago. </p><p>All David had was Les. </p><p>Les and Sarah, and maybe he didn't even have her anymore. </p><p>The cardinal hopped down on the cobbled wall beside him. Somehow, the birds were never frightened by all the ghosts like they would be around a living human. </p><p>David reached out one finger, focusing intently on keeping it solid enough to pet the beautiful creature gently on the crest of its bright feathered head. </p><p>A lovely animal, and strange pattern for a cardinal. A bit blacker than most, with one spot just on it's chin. Sarah would have thought he was lovely. </p><p>David sighed, wishing more than anything… he didn't know what he wished. That he was alive? By now he'd be an old man, nearly dead anyway. </p><p>Like Sarah would be. </p><p>He knew she would eventually. She'd die, and be buried with their parents, more than likely. So close, just down the road, but so, <em> so </em>far at the same time. </p><p>He'd never see her again. She'd be confined to that cemetery, and he and Les would be stuck here, in this cemetery that was all the family could afford at the time. </p><p>He should be grateful, David knew. Some of the boys didn't even have headstones, and weren't buried near any family at all. Jack hadn't seen his mother since she'd died, and he'd not likely be seeing her again. </p><p>But David had hoped… he'd dared hope to see Sarah again, hoped for at least one last time before she was gone too. </p><p>"Have you seen her, friend?" He turned back to the bird. "Her name is Sarah. Sarah Jacobs. She wouldn't take Spot's name, no matter what anybody sa-" he was interrupted by shrieking and chirping that shattered his eardrums. </p><p>The bird pecked at his hand. "Ow! Hey, what's wrong?"</p><p>He flapped his little red wings like mad, kicking up pebbles, leaves and twigs before stopping, still as a statue, to look David directly in the eyes. </p><p>"What do you know, little one?" David spoke more to himself than to the bird, but he could have sworn it was scowling at him now. </p><p>"Do you know my sister?" A bob of the little red feathers. </p><p>"You know Sarah?" David jumped to his feet. </p><p>"David?" </p><p>He spun around to face Jack,  who looked concerned. </p><p>"Jack, he says he knows Sarah!"</p><p>Jack nodded slowly. </p><p>"Alright… but you don't talk to birds." </p><p>"Well… not usually," David admitted. "But this bird isn't <em> talking- </em>talking, you know?"</p><p>Jack quite clearly did not know. </p><p>"Why don't we get Tumbler, huh?"</p><p>David couldn't, and probably shouldn't, argue with that suggestion. </p><p>He turned back to the bird. </p><p>"Wait here, we've got someone who can talk to you."</p><p>He just hoped it would stay put. Was that too much to expect from a bird?</p><p>A few stray snowflakes drifted past David's eyes, and he wondered. He hoped and he wondered. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Turkey</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>"Turkey reminds us to honor ourselves, honor the Earth, and to care for and nourish both."<br/>ask-angels.com</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Denton sat beside Kloppman in the church office, wondering just how much he could tell his friend before the old priest decided he'd completely lost his mind. </p><p>On the one hand, Father Kloppman would be the one person he probably ought to notify of the boys "living" in the cemetery. On the other hand, he didn't think ghosts were a particularly established idea in Catholicism. </p><p>Besides, Father Kloppman had called him into the office for a reason, which most likely was not ghost related. </p><p>"Bryan, I don't know what to do," the old man said simply. </p><p>"We've got a problem, and a big one." He pulled out his church registry. </p><p>"We've got no one. No families come to service here. They all go down the road." The man sighed. </p><p>"It's not that Saint Mary's is a problem, exactly, but…" he trailed off, gesturing at the worn church walls around them. </p><p>"We don't compare. Nobody wants to come to mass in a drafty old building led by an old turkey like me." </p><p>"And then there's the whole business with the <em> actual </em>turkeys, which Bishop Pulitzer still isn't happy about." </p><p>Denton's mouth twitched into a smile at the memory. A small flock of turkeys had taken up residence in the church parking lot, and they hadn't been fond of the bishop at all.</p><p>In retrospect, that embarrassing day could easily explain his desire to close down their little churchyard, but of course, that didn't mean Denton would be happy about it. </p><p>Father Kloppman leaned back, running a hand through his sparse white hair. </p><p>"Don't go telling this around, but I never did think Bishop Pulitzer was the right choice. He thinks Latin is the only way to go." </p><p>Kloppman snorted. </p><p>"Latin! As if the good lord spoke Latin. And now he's out to tear up our cemetery, as if He didn't <em> literally </em> tell us to bury the dead." </p><p>The old man snorted again, then cleared his throat. </p><p>"Surely you won't let him?"</p><p>Denton couldn't bear the thought of his boys being upturned and thrown aside, even before he knew that they were aware of it. </p><p>"I'll go to the Pope if I need to. Nobody's disturbing our boys."</p><p>The thought of Kloppman, self proclaimed turkey and thorn in the Bishop's side for many years, making his way to the Vatican to see the Pope, was a mixture of hilarious and inspiring. </p><p>Kloppman tapped his pen lightly on the desk. </p><p>"We need someone who cares. Someone the community will give a damn about, pardon my language." His eyebrows came together in thought like two fuzzy white caterpillars. </p><p>"I'll poke around, see what these old feathers can dig up." He smiled thirdly at Denton. </p><p>"But I'd recommend you start looking for other jobs, just in case."</p><p>Denton nodded hesitantly. He didn't want to think about that. </p><p>"Father, I have a question. Unrelated," he added quickly. </p><p>"What are your thoughts… oh, nevermind." He waved the thought away, but Father Kloppman was clearly invested now. </p><p>"No, no. What is it?"</p><p>Denton frowned, trying to decide how to ask without sounding absolutely mad.</p><p>"Do you think there's any chance that heaven and earth are the same place, just experienced differently?" </p><p>Kloppman tilted his head thoughtfully. </p><p>"I don't know. Maybe." He shrugged. "I don't see why they couldn't be."</p><p>Denton nodded, glad he wasn't being accused of heresy or insanity. </p><p>"What," Kloppman asked with a little chuckle. "You've started seeing angels wandering the forest?"</p><p>Denton forced a laugh as well.</p><p>"Look outside, Father." He pointed to the grey-orange world outside the window. </p><p>"Ghosts would be more appropriate, I think."</p><hr/><p>At that particular moment, the ghosts in question were having a meeting of their own.</p><p>"What's he mean, he's Spot Conlon?" Skittery scoffed. "He's a <em> bird </em>. And Spot's dead, ain't he?"</p><p>"Reincarnated?" Mush suggested. It wasn't unheard of, though a new life like that hardly seemed the path Spot would have wound up on. </p><p>"Tumbler, are you sure that's what he said?" Skittery was consistently skeptical, despite he himself being something many didn't believe in. </p><p>The little boy nodded stubbornly. "He's Spot Conlon, and he knows where Sarah is."</p><p>David fidgeted in a mixture of nerves and excitement. "Where is she?" </p><p>The bird, which might or might not possess the essence of Spot Conlon, chirped impatiently at Tumbler. </p><p>"She's where? Alright, alright," he waved his hands as the little red bird started to shriek in anger at his confusion. Tumbler turned back to the other ghosts. </p><p>"He says she's at the Refuge."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Oak</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>"Oak trees can last for hundreds of years. Because of their longevity and size, some other special meanings include wisdom and honor, as well as strength of character...The trees are believed to be like spiritual guardians that can provide comfort and solace."<br/>-mrtreeservices.com</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>All of a sudden, Denton found himself on the way to a nursing home to visit a woman he'd heard stories of, but never met before, because a bird told a ghost that he had to in order to save the church.</p><p>This was a completely normal, logical situation in every way, he told himself, bouncing and bunping along the pothole dotted road. </p><p>Denton parked his old truck under a thin, spindly oak tree with a few leaves still hanging on with more determination than they were probably worth.</p><p>He crunched his way up the little path to The Refuge Care Center, a dingy old building with so little life, he could scarcely imagine anyone leaving a loved one here. </p><p>Not that Denton had many loved ones to leave, here or anywhere else, but that was beside the point. </p><p>Spot, as the little bird was apparently named, sat on a low branch, chirping impatiently. </p><p>"Have you got any idea if they'll let me in?"</p><p>Surely there were rules about this sort of thing. Would Mrs. Jacobs even want to see a stranger? </p><p>Spot fluffed his bright feathers into nearly a sphere, looking incredibly cute and incredibly angry. </p><p>"Alright, alright, " Denton soothed. "I'm going."</p><p>He buzzed the doorbell and was allowed inside, where a painfully disinterested woman managed the front desk. </p><p>"Name?" She asked, barely looking up from her magazine. </p><p>"Bryan Denton. I'm here to see Sarah Jacobs?" </p><p>The woman handed him a yellowed slip of paper clipped to a ragged lanyard. VISITOR, it declared him in faded print, right beside an impressively phallic image of a...flower? It was probably a flower. </p><p>"Room 107." </p><p>"107," Denton repeated, consulting the little sign bolted to the wall. </p><p>Down the hallway he went, nodding to residents seated in what was probably intended to be a communal area, which smelled like pea soup, and finally, Denton arrived at the end of the hallway. The door plate marked 107 was clean, declaring the room belonged to "Sara Jacob's". </p><p>Denton hesitated, for some reason nervous, and then knocked. </p><p>"Come in, it's open." </p><p>Denton pushed lightly on the door and was greeted by quite possibly the smallest woman he'd ever seen. She was so frail-looking, he worried even the gust of air from opening the door might blow her up into the heating vents and be lost for good. </p><p>"Well, don't just stand there," she smiled. "Have a seat and tell me how you met my Spot." </p><p>Denton sat down, surprised. </p><p>"How did you…"</p><p>She pointed to the window. </p><p>"He comes and goes. Right now he's decided to go say hello to the neighbors, the old softie." Sarah tittered out a laugh. </p><p>"Likes to be tough, he does, then spreads his wings to brighten any day he can." She laughed again, and Denton found himself smiling too. </p><p>How a woman could laugh in a place like this, he didn't know, but Mrs. Jacobs was clearly something special. </p><p>"What brings you here, Mister Denton?" </p><p>Denton didn't bother asking how she knew his name. But why <em> was </em> he here? </p><p>"Your brothers are worried about you," he offered, which was certainly part of the reason. </p><p>"What?" Sarah sat up rod-straight, and Denton instinctively reached out to catch her if she fell. </p><p>The woman waved him off. "Oh, I'm fine, I'm fine. Tell me about David and Les. Did you speak with them? How?"</p><p>Denton ran a hand through his hair. </p><p>"I feel like I should call it a long story, but there's really not much I know," he admitted. </p><p>"I clean the churchyard where they're buried, and one day I just… saw them." He shrugged. "I don't know why. Well, actually…"</p><p>He tilted his head in thought. </p><p>"Maybe there is a reason. The bishop, he wants to close our church down."</p><p>"Close it?" Sarah hissed. "I'd like to see him <em> try</em>. My brothers are buried there, and if he thinks he can just tear them up, well, that old-"</p><p>"Mrs. Jacobs?" An orderly came directly in without knocking, completely unconcerned by the conversation he'd been interrupting.</p><p>"It's time for your medication."</p><p>Sarah gave a strained smile. </p><p>"Thank you, Nigel. How kind of you to remind me." She accepted the little paper cup and tossed back the pills into her mouth. </p><p>"Thank you love, I'll see you tonight." </p><p>The young man gave a disinterested smile, then shut the door. </p><p>Sarah tossed a handful of blue pills into the trash bin. </p><p>"Sleight of hand. Keeps the mind clear of their mud." She winked. </p><p>"They're drugging your mind?" Denton felt sick. </p><p>"Oh, they <em> try, </em>" Sarah smiled. "But I can get out of taking them easy as breaking an egg. When you say your dead husband is now a bird, they send you here and try to pump you full of pills." </p><p>She shrugged her thin shoulders. </p><p>"I can play their little game. Now," she shifted in her chair. </p><p>"Why are you <em> really </em> here, Bryan?" </p><p>The intensity in her voice felt foreign coming from such a thin frame, like hearing an eagle's cry come out of a hummingbird's tiny chest.</p><p>"I think…" Denton hesitated. </p><p>"I think we, the boys and I, we need your help."</p><p>Sarah's thin lips curled into a smile. </p><p>"Oh, I was hoping you'd say that." She leaned forward. "When do we begin?"</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Getting close to the end of this one, and I'm really really proud of it.<br/>Huge thanks to all of you who have read it, it means a lot that folks still want to read something a little bit out-there.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Edelweiss</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>"Originally, Edelweiss could only be found at very high altitudes, up in the Alps where it survived the harshest of winters. That is why this little flower is associated with strength and toughness.</p><p>It also came to be a symbol of courage, bravery and love; because of how high up the Edelweiss grew, if your partner were to bring you an Edelweiss flower, it would mean they have climbed up to a very high altitude to get it!"</p><p>- Language Blogs : German</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Smuggling the oldest woman in town out of a nursing home had never been high on Denton's bucket list. In all honesty, the thought of doing so had never once crossed his mind. This left him woefully unprepared to actually perform such a heist, but luckily, Sarah Jacobs was nothing if not resourceful. </p><p>"I've been planning this for weeks," she said eagerly, bundling her things into an old duffel bag. </p><p>"Never really intended to do it, mind you, but it's something to occupy the time. I never was one for parcheesi." </p><p>She knocked on the wall and hissed, "Arthur! Arthur, I need your help."</p><p>"Woman, I'm sleeping," boomed a voice from the next room over. "What do you want?"</p><p>Sarah shot Denton a sneaky smile, and he wondered if she might actually be the tiniest bit mad.  </p><p>"Arthur was a professional singer for a good while there. King of distractions, he is."</p><p>Denton nodded along, growing more and more worried about this plan by the second. </p><p>Arthur himself ducked in the room, his sparse white hair brushing against the doorframe. </p><p>"Ah, is it time?" He took Denton in seriously. </p><p>"It's time, Arthur," Sarah smiled. </p><p>"Time to show old Snyder how he can't lock <em> me </em> up. No sir."</p><p>Denton felt the urge to straighten up, though he didn't know why. </p><p>"Good boy," Arthur said, clapping a large, trembling hand on his shoulder. </p><p>"You keep our Sarah out of trouble, you hear?"</p><p>Denton nodded again. He'd been doing a lot of that lately. Silently nodding and then doing things that were probably insane. </p><p>Well, it was for a good cause. Besides, his quiet life could use a little insanity. </p>
<hr/><p>He shouldn't have worried, really. Or maybe he should have worried more. Either way, Sarah was determined that this would work, and it seemed she would be correct. </p><p>Arthur, quite possibly the tallest man Denton had ever seen, agreed to distract the woman at the desk by singing madly up and down the hallway. </p><p>They could clearly hear his rich baritone, completely drowning out any sound of escape. </p><p>"...clean and bright, you look happy to meet me." </p><p>Sarah set to work picking the lock on the door to a nearby closet. </p><p>"Confiscated my shoes, that little ape of a man in charge," she hissed. ""Flight risk" my left foot." </p><p>Ironic, seeing as they were, at that very moment, in the process of fleeing. </p><p>Sarah pressed her frail head to the door and listened, until with a click, the door opened. </p><p>"Alright, let's go." She tugged on a pair of heavy mud boots, bright orange and decorated with little white flowers. </p><p>"Blossom of snow," hollered Arthur, growing close now. </p><p>"Bloom and grow forever." </p><p>Denton held the door for Sarah, who giggled, suddenly sounding very young and energetic. "Such a gentleman," she teased.</p><p>"Edelweiss, Edelweiss," boomed Arthur as he was lead into view, "assisted" by two nurses and the desk woman. </p><p>"Wait, you can't leave!" She shouted, suddenly taking notice of the escape happening right under her nose. </p><p>Sarah cackled like she'd never been happier. Yes, Denton was making a mistake. Well, he'd committed to it now. No going back. </p><p>"Try and stop us, honey!" She flailed her large handbag like a victory banner, grabbing Denton gleefully and dragging him out the door with more strength than he would have ever expected. </p><p>His offer of help into the truck was ignored, with Sarah hoping spryly into the cab all on her own. </p><p>"Go, boy, go!" </p><p>Denton obeyed, screeching out of the snowy parking lot and wondering once again what, exactly, he had gotten himself into.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Carnation</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>"A sweet yet sentimental way to let someone know that you miss them is through carnations. Pink and red are the favoured colours of carnations that you must pick up to express him/her that you are missing them. Pink carnations say – “you are unforgettable”"<br/>-m.fnp.com</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jack watched the road, waiting and wondering. He had to admit, he was jealous. Jealous of Denton's freedom to go where he liked, freedom to visit Sarah, not constantly wait for <em> her </em> to visit. </p><p>If she was locked up in the Refuge, he realized painfully, he'd not likely see her again. Sarah would stay in the nursing home until she died, and then she would be buried alongside Spot, Esther and Mayer, just a few miles down the road, but still entirely too far. </p><p>Why couldn't they have set up the new cemetery closer to theirs? Just combine the two, why didn't they? Jack wasn't quite sure who "they" were, exactly, but he knew he wasn't happy with their decisions.</p><p>He shook his head. This kind of moping was <em> quite </em> unusual for Jack Kelly. He normally left the feeling things up to David, but apparently it was his turn to be sad now. </p><p>How unfortunate. </p><p>Denton's truck came crunching down the gravel road, and Jack nearly fell off the fence. <em> Sarah </em>was in the passenger seat. She was out? Since when were people allowed to leave the Refuge? Why hadn't she left before now? </p><p>Maybe she really had just forgotten to visit them. </p><p>Jack watched what had once been his… no, he and Sarah had never been more than friends. It was much easier this way. Easier to pretend. Just friends. </p><p>He watched his old <em> friend </em> climb out of the truck, clutching a plastic-wrapped bouquet of pink flowers, the kind sold in grocery stores all year round. Carnations, weren't they? Mayer had bought those for Esther once, he was pretty sure. She liked the bright colors.</p><p>"Cheerful" she said they were. </p><p>Denton tried to help the old woman, but she waved him off. </p><p>Jack couldn't hear what she said, but he imagined it was something along the lines of <em> I've got it, I've got it. My legs still work, you know </em>. </p><p>He smiled sadly. Sarah used to say that to Spot whenever he'd tried to help her along. Speaking of which, where was that little bird? </p><p>Spot had left with Denton, and now was nowhere to be- oh, there he was.</p><p>A little red feathered head peeked out of Sarah's pocket, glaring at the world like usual. </p><p>"Fellows, we're back," Denton called, looking very much like he still wanted to help Sarah, to keep the old woman from slipping on the ice. Her work boots would do just fine, Jack knew she would insist.</p><p>"Denton's back!" Tumbler cheered. </p><p>"Les, David he's brought Sarah!"</p><p>Les looked up from his game of dust tic tac toe with Boots, face immediately brightening so much, he looked nearly alive. </p><p>David looked like he might die again, shivering and rippling and becoming more mist than ghost. He ran across the cemetery faster than Jack had ever seen, practically flying.</p><p>"Sarah!" The boys all gathered around, as if she could see them, cheering and chattering. Sarah always brought out more excitement than anything else.</p><p>She knew every name, even some of the ones Denton couldn't read.</p><p>"Hello, Specs," she sighed, tapping one stone amicably. </p><p>"Crutchy, Snitch, Itey. Little Tumbler, I do hope you're keeping out of trouble up in heaven," she teased, and the Tumbler she didn't know was right beside her squealed with glee. </p><p>"She don't see us," he explained to Denton. "Tell her we hear, Denton. Tell her!"</p><p>"Sarah, everyone is so happy to see you," Denton said with a smile. </p><p>"Oh! They're here now?" It was as if the sun had just come out after a thunderstorm, Sarah's face glowed so much. </p><p>"Tell them I miss them," she whispered, eyes glistening. </p><p>A sun shower, as Esther would call it. Rain and sun all at once. </p><p>Jack reached out instinctively to wipe her tears, but of course, his hand passed right through. </p><p>She always looked so different, every year a little older, a little more bent. Her hands were worn, and every day Jack missed holding them. </p><p>"They know," Denton said softly. He looked at Jack sadly. Jack turned away. </p><p>Sarah knelt beside David's headstone, settling a few flowers around the base before moving to decorate Les'. </p><p>"You were so young," she said, gently tracing the letters. Jack wondered if she would even be able to read his, as damaged as it was. Drunk college students had driven a tractor into the cemetery, and Jack's stone was the one unfortunate enough to stop them. </p><p>He'd protected everyone else, though, Jack reminded himself proudly. His stone might be cracked, but he'd stopped the tractor. </p><p>"Oh, goodness. It does get harder every year," Sarah sighed, wiping away a few stray tears. Jack wished he could cry with her. </p><p>She wobbled to her feet, and this time, accepted Denton's outstretched hand. The second their palms touched, something felt different, though Jack couldn't quite place how.</p><p>Sarah gasped. "David? Oh, <em> David </em>," Sarah cried, suddenly sounding sixteen again. She threw her free arm around his neck, and miraculously, the boy stayed solid enough to hug her back.</p><p>"Sarah," he whispered. </p><p>The rest of the boys hung back; it wasn't their time just yet. </p><p>"Sarah!" Les enthusiastically joined in the embrace, nearly knocking Sarah over in his excitement. </p><p>She still gripped Denton's hand, a lifeline to reach both worlds, living and dead. </p><p>"Oh, Les, I missed you," Sarah started to laugh, letting go of the two Jacobs boys and holding them at arm's length. </p><p>"You look just the same!"</p><p>"You don't!" Dutchy pointed out, and Specs whacked the side of his head. </p><p>"Shut up, she looks great." </p><p>Sarah threw back her head and laughed again. </p><p>"Oh, I missed you all." </p><p>She turned to face Jack, and he was sure death couldn't have compared to this feeling. </p><p>"Hey Sarah."</p><p>"Jack…" </p><p>She reached out hesitantly, running one frail hand along his cheek. </p><p>"Didn't forget about your wild cowboy?" Jack joked.</p><p>"Oh, Jack." Sarah took his hand in hers. </p><p>"I could never forget."</p><p>"Never?"  Jack allowed himself to feel more hope than any ghost probably had ever in history. </p><p>"Never."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Cardinal Flower</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>"Legend has it that the scarlet-red flower was named for the red robes worn by cardinals in the Catholic Church. Although native to North America, it's been cultivated in Europe since the 1600s for its lovely flower. One legend claims that touching the root of this plant will bring love to the lives of elderly women!"<br/>- texas.gov</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Denton looked around the snow-dusted cemetery. "Where did Spot go?" </p><p>The little cardinal was nowhere to be seen, though previously he had been settled in Sarah’s pocket. </p><p>The woman looked around, searching for the bird that was her late husband. That was certainly an <em> interesting </em>thought. </p><p>"Oh!" </p><p>She knelt at the base of a tree, where a small flowering plant had sprouted and grown in an instant. The previously bare earth now held delicate red blossoms, shivering in the cool air. </p><p>They looked like blood, or berries, or feathers. No, none of those were quite right. These flowers were so delicate, so intricate, so miraculous in the snow.</p><p>"It's a cardinal flower," Sarah said softly. Frail old hands traced the tiny petals tenderly. "He's at peace now." </p><p>Denton choked on his words, though he wasn’t sure why. </p><p>"That's good."</p><p>"Yes," Sarah whispered, as if she'd aged a hundred years in just one moment. </p><p>Denton knelt beside her in the thin layer of snow, feeling as though he should say something, but having no idea what. What could he say in honor of a man he'd never met? Nothing, that was what. He would honor him with his silence. </p><p>Silence, and offering Sarah his old coat when the wind picked up. The woman wore only a thin nightgown and boots; Denton should have thought to offer well before now. </p><p>Sarah accepted the coat, and his hand assisting her in standing. “We have work to do." </p><p>Denton looked around the cemetery. The boys seemed to have wandered off to give Sarah her space to grieve. Impressively thoughtful for a group who'd been teenaged boys at most for the past few centuries. </p><p>Bishop Pulitzer wasn't going to mess with them if he had anything to say about it, and certainly not on Sarah Jacobs' watch. </p><p>"We'd better get started."</p><hr/><p>"My stars, is that Mrs. Sarah Jacobs?"</p><p>Father Kloppman's greeting didn't exactly echo across the little church, as it would take a much larger building to produce any sort of substantial echo, but the general emotion behind it was such that it <em> felt </em> like an echo. </p><p>Denton wondered if he'd gone mad, thinking like that. </p><p>All these ghost-things filled Denton's head so quickly, it was like he couldn't think of what was right in front of him. </p><p>Sarah and the priest greeted one another, clasping arms as old friends. Denton wondered if Father Kloppman had known Spot back before he was a bird. He <em>would</em> like to know what the man had been like, aside from the apparent "small and slightly grouchy" that was evident in the cardinal's personality.</p><p>Oh, Sarah and Father Kloppman were talking, weren't they?</p><p>"Father, I am the oldest person in this entire damned town," Sarah said firmly. "There is not one single person who wants to be known as "the man who told Sarah Jacobs 'no,'  and that's just what's going to make this work." </p><p>Denton looked around the church. The woman from before, Medda was her name, was nowhere to be seen. </p><p>"Come with me, I've got an idea."</p><hr/><p>"Since when does this church have a crypt?" </p><p>One would think that after spending the past few days surrounded by literal ghosts, Denton wouldn't be spooked by the thought of a few underground burial spaces. </p><p>One would think. </p><p>"If you can believe it, this little old church was once the cathedral for this area, and all the bishops were buried down here." Father Kloppman clicked on the lights, which flickered, and thankfully decided to stay lit. </p><p>"We store some of our more important documents and things here. Historic significance, baptisms, marriages, things like that." </p><p>The old man snorted at the dusty surfaces. </p><p>"Of course, we shouldn't <em> have </em>to be storing them here. A space like this is meant to be treated with a bit more reverence than a filing cabinet, but Bishop Pulitzer doesn't see it that way."</p><p>Sarah scoffed, brushing dust off a plaque on the wall. </p><p>"Ought to get somebody down here to clean every once in a while."</p><p>Denton nodded in agreement. "Why was I never shown down here?"</p><p>Father Kloppman ran a hand through his sparse hair. </p><p>"Again, because of the bishop. He thinks…" the man trailed off. "Nevermind. He's a fool, and ought never to have been made bishop. Now," Father Kloppman opened one of the filing cabinets, leaving Denton to wonder what the bishop could possibly have against him cleaning the crypt.</p><p>"Combined with Mrs. Jacobs reputation, I think we just might have enough down here to prove that our old church is worth keeping around."</p><p>Sarah took Denton's coat off and folded it neatly over the stair railing. She rolled up the sleeves of her nightgown, determination written across her face. In this light, Denton would have sworn she looked decades younger, a pink tinge from the dim lights glowing and smoothing the lines in her face. </p><p>A young, sturdy girl, hands that knew what it was to work and a heart ready for a fight. </p><p>"Let's get started."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Pigeon</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“These birds are said to bring good fortune and positive news. They were thought to be extremely lucky birds….some cultures thought that pigeons were a symbol of the souls of the dead,”<br/>https://www.everydayknow.com/pigeon-symbolism</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Denton stood in the doorway to his little home. Doubt clutched at his heart like a throbbing sore. Did they have enough? Were these pictures, notes, lists and documents enough to bring the little town onto their side? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He thumbed through the yellowed papers one more time. Newspapers, obituaries, and a few sheets of music, all much older than he was. It hardly seemed possible that anyone would care, but Sarah and Father Kloppman were confident that, if they could just get the media involved, the people would rally behind saving the churchyard. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Denton just hoped they were right. Sarah stepped out from changing into more suitable clothes than a nightgown, though even Denton's smallest clothes were entirely and obviously much too large. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still, it was better than her outfit from the nursing home. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Shall we?" Denton offered his arm to the old woman, and she accepted with a smile. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Time to turn this silly little town on its head.”</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>The man at the print shop was happy to put up one of their flyers, as was the grocery store, the library, and the sole coffee shop downtown, which </span>
  <em>
    <span>did </span>
  </em>
  <span>get a lot of foot traffic. But the biggest success came at the local newspaper office.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you mind if I take a few extras?” asked the desk worker for </span>
  <em>
    <span>The Daily Sun</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“I’d like to pass them along to my higher ups. This seems like it ought to be in the papers.” She nudged her glasses up her thin nose. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Absolutely!” Denton exclaimed, passing over a small stack. “Give them to anyone you’d like.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Grainy old photos of boys he recognized stared up at him, the few who’d been captured in photographs. There was a surprisingly large number of them, captured and labeled in neat penmanship by a woman named Katherine Plumber. Miss Plumber was likely long-dead, but Denton sent her a little prayer of </span>
  <em>
    <span>thank you</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Those photos, with labels and names and little snippets about the boys pictured, were monumental in their pamphlet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you so much. You’ve no idea how much this means to us.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Could I get your phone number?” Denton recoiled a bit at the forwardness. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For if they need more information,” the woman continued, and Denton relaxed a bit, scribbling his personal number onto the back of a flyer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s my phone, and here’s the church office,” he explained, ignoring the blush creeping up his neck. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can call whenever, and I’ll try to get back with you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The woman bobbed her head like a red-haired pigeon, folding the paper into her purse. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I hope you win,” she smiled. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you, miss.” Denton tipped his hat and ducked out onto the street. He shook the snowflakes off his coat, a futile attempt, as they were immediately replaced. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pushing all thoughts of pigeons and redheaded, bespectacled women from his mind, Dento headed off to the next business. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The dry cleaners didn’t get all </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> much business, but he knew the owner, and she knew nearly everyone who attended the newer church. If they were on their side, Bishop Pulitzer could hardly argue anymore.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Just before sunset, Denton met with Sarah and Father Kloppman right outside the diocesan office, where Bishop Pulitzer would occasionally visit for work purposes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Last flyer,” he said, holding it out to Sarah. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Would you like to do the honors?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She grinned mischievously. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’d love to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a flourish of tape and paper, the sheet was firmly affixed across the window, and directly in view of any who might pass. Certainly impossible for Bishop Pulitzer to miss when he came for his monthly visit, which, by Father Kloppman’s schedule, should be tomorrow. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What a lovely surprise for the bishop,” Kloppman smiled. “He’ll be so pleased to see I’ve shown initiative. The man always did think I was too settled.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Denton barked a laugh. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kloppman was hardly a man to be described as </span>
  <em>
    <span>settled</span>
  </em>
  <span>, not if you knew him at all, which of course, the bishop didn’t. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He didn’t know much about their town.  Denton smiled, opening the door to his truck for Sarah and Father Kloppman to squeeze in. That wasn’t even the most illegal thing he’d done today. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Nemophilia (Baby Blue Eyes)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>"Nemophilia represents victory and success."<br/>- atozflowers.com</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It didn't take long for the letters to start pouring in. Concerned citizens outraged at the planned destruction of a historic church and cemetery that previously they hadn't been aware <em> existed </em> were now writing pages upon pages expressing their disgust. </p><p>Bishop Pulitzer was most displeased, and Denton had never seen Father Kloppman so happy. The old man was downright giddy, practically skipping around the church office in his excitement, waving the newspaper around like a victory banner. </p><p>“Oh, this is so much better than I expected, Bryan. Much, <em> much </em>better. The locals are furious! Furious, I tell you!” </p><p>He positively beamed.</p><p>“Oh, I can’t wait to show Sarah.”</p><p>Denton looked at his watch. The bishop should be coming "to talk" later that afternoon, but it wasn't even noon yet.  </p><p>“We’ve got plenty of time. Hopefully the receptionist will have forgotten my face.”</p><hr/><p>The Refuge was equally as dingy and awful on this beautiful sunny day as it had been the previous grey snowy one, Denton noted. </p><p>Something would have to be done about that, but later. For now, he had a “delivery for Mrs. Jacobs,” labeled neatly on the pot of cheerful purple-spotted flowers purchased from the nursery just down the street. The spots would surely make Sarah smile, just because they were “Spots.”</p><p>The receptionist had, in fact, forgotten his face, or maybe she just didn’t look up from her magazine enough to see that the man who’d kidnapped a resident less than a day before was back to visit the same woman. </p><p>She just waved Denton and Kloppman by, handing them each a visitor’s badge and turning back to the glossy pages of celebrity faces and useless products. </p><p>“Sara Jacob’s” had not been relocated after her escape/abduction. This same room was convenient, but did raise concerns about her safety, at least in Denton’s opinion. He didn’t like to think Sarah might be in danger, but he’d always been a <em> little </em>more suspicious than the average man. </p><p>“Hello, boy,” greeted Arthur, ducking out of his room. Denton was suspicious he might have forgotten his name. </p><p>“Good morning, Arthur.” Denton nodded respectfully. “Thank you so much for your help yesterday.”</p><p>The man boomed a laugh. “Any time. That was the highlight of my <em> year. </em>” He knocked on Sarah’s door frame, higher than Denton could have possibly reached. </p><p>“Sarah, you’ve got visitors.”</p><p>The door swung open immediately, and there stood Sarah, back in her nightgown, but work boots still securely on her feet. </p><p>“How are things?” she demanded. <br/>“That wench won’t let me have her newspaper. Says I’m “unruly.”” Sarah scoffed. “She’s right, of course, but that’s not the point. I’ll be unruly as I damned well <em> please. </em>”</p><p>She waved them into the crowded room. </p><p>“Don’t be shy, come in. Now tell me,” she grinned, mischievous as a schoolgirl. </p><p>“Did we win?”</p><p>Father Kloppman presented the newspaper with a flourish. A bold headline on page two declared <em> Historic Church In Danger : Bishop to Destroy Cemetery. </em></p><p>A slightly adapted copy of their flyer in large lettering explained the significance of their churchyard, complete with pictures and quotes from the one and only Sarah Jacobs, oldest woman in town. </p><p>“We’ve not met with the bishop, but I’d call <em> this </em>a victory.” </p><p>Denton had never seen Father Kloppman look so pleased with himself. The old man was positively <em> smug. </em></p><p>Sarah clapped her frail hands together. </p><p>“Oh, wonderful! What do the boys think?”</p><p>Denton’s face fell. </p><p>“I’ve not seen them since yesterday.”  He shook his head. “I don’t know why.”<br/>Kloppman tilted his head curiously. “What boys?”</p><p>Denton winced. “Yes, there is that, isn’t there?”</p><p>“You didn’t tell him?” Sarah demanded. “Why?”</p><p>Denton held his hands up defensively. </p><p>“It sounds absolutely mad, that’s why! If I went to him claiming to see <em> ghosts, </em> what would Father think of me?”</p><p>“I’d think you’d better <em> talk to me,” </em> the old priest exclaimed, shaking his head in disbelief. </p><p>“Honestly. Sarah, can you believe the silliness of young people today.”</p><p>She mournfully shook her head. </p><p>“Can there ever be any hope?” Denton plucked a flower and tossed it at her. <br/>“Oh, leave me alone.”</p><p>The group erupted into stifled laughter, and Denton felt something almost bittersweet stabbing at his chest. He pushed the feeling away in favor of the light, bubbling yet peaceful joy. </p><p>“Maybe this means they’re at peace,” he suggested. </p><p>“Like Spot.”</p><p>Sarah’s face lit up. </p><p>“Oh, maybe. I do hope so. That really would mean we won.”</p><p>Denton spun one little flower between his fingers. <br/>“I think we just might have done that.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The last chapter will hopefully be up soon! Thank you so much to everyone who has read and commented!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Astilbe</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>"The astilbe flower is also known as false spirea, false goat’s beard, or feather flower and they are said to have the meaning of “I will be waiting for you’ or ‘I’ll still be waiting,” symbolizing patience and dedication to a loved one. But don’t let their delicate look fool you, they are actually pretty hardy flowers. The flowers sit on strong green stems above airy, green foliage. Each stem features a plume of feather-shaped branches that hold clusters of small flowers, resulting in a beautiful, feathery soft bloom."<br/>- https://www.fiftyflowers.com/blog/flower-meanings-focal-flowers/</p>
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    <p>
  <em> Four Years Later…  </em>
</p><hr/><p>The morning of Sarah Jacobs' funeral and the burial following was pleasantly springtime in every way. Flowers spotted up in the grass, birds sang as if they had not a care in the world, and a wonderfully pleasant breeze ruffled at the new budding leaves on every tree. </p><p>Sarah would have loved this day. She was not the first to be buried in the recently combined cemetery, and she certainly wouldn’t be the last. Still, her burial meant something, at least in Denton’s eyes.</p><p>It meant the completion of a family.<br/>Esther and Mayer Jacobs had been buried down the road for many years, with David and Les separated from their family for nearly a century. With the combination of the two cemeteries, Denton hoped they might be able to walk together in death. The separate cemeteries had been the divide, so logically, this should have fixed the problem. And now Sarah, after a long, full life, would join her family in peace.</p><p>Denton fastened his tie and gathered his things. A bouquet of bright, warm flowers, herb-like and cheerful, rested on the table. </p><p>“Ready?” Hannah reached for his hand, fingers twining together. </p><p>Denton nodded, not quite trusting himself to speak. The little house would certainly feel emptier without Sarah’s spirit filling it with twice as much energy and life as any other could possibly provide.  He was going to miss that most of all. </p><hr/><p>Arthur stood beside Bryan and Hannah through the service, his strong, deep voice singing hymns into the world, wonderful songs to rival the birds outside. The newly managed <em> Roosevelt’s Assisted Living Communities, </em> formerly <em> The Refuge, </em>was thankfully much freer in regards to the comings and goings of its residents.</p><p>Father Kloppman concluded the burial service (Sarah insisted in her will on having "the most non-religious service any priest ever gave"), wished everyone well, and slowly wandered back to the church, his old bones slow and creaky, but certainly not <em> tired, </em> no. Kloppman insisted he never got tired.  Slowly, the little crowd dissipated as acquaintances, family, friends and neighbors left to head home. Finally, it was only Bryan and Hannah standing at Sarah’s new gravestone, clean marbled rock settled right beside the slightly mossy <em> Sean Conlon. </em></p><p>Denton knelt to arrange his flowers. </p><p>“Goodbye, Sarah,” he whispered, half-smiling, half crying.<br/>“Thanks for everything.”</p><p>Hannah wrapped her arms around his shoulders as he cried. A few tears fell onto the soil. </p><p>Long hair brushed the headstone, and a pair of young, gentle hands, calloused from years of work reached out and gripped his fingers. </p><p>“Bryan, thank you.”</p><p>He looked up in surprise to see a young girl, brown hair, smooth skin, and twinkling eyes that he knew well. Those eyes had been a part of his life for nearly four years.<br/>Bryan never thought he would see them again, not in this life. </p><p>“Sarah… how?”</p><p>She laughed, a bright, wonderful sound. </p><p>“Miracles, I’d say.” </p><p>Hannah folded herself onto the grass. “Well,” she joked tearfully, reaching to touch Sarah’s hand. “Death has done wonders for your complexion.”</p><p>Sarah laughed again. She’d always been one to laugh. </p><p>“You’ve got something to look forward for, love. But not for a while, I hope.” Fondly, she looked at the couple, looking not unlike the old woman who had shared their home and been a part of their little family for the last years of her life. </p><p>“And I’ve got someone waiting for me, too.”</p><p>Sarah got to her feet, pointing across the grassy, wildflower-spotted cemetery lawn towards the newly repaired Mulberry Hill Chapel.</p><p>Denton’s breath hitched as he saw the familiar faces. </p><p>“Sarah!” David’s shout burst out like a firework as he broke into a sprint, followed by Les, Jack, and all the rest of the boys. </p><p>Sarah ran to meet them, and was promptly absorbed into the whirling, almost glowing group of children. “Oh, David, Les, Jack, how I’ve missed you all!”</p><p>Tears ran down Denton’s face, and he didn’t bother to wipe them away. They’d water Sarah’s grave, grow more flowers, probably. </p><p>“Thanks, Denton.” </p><p>Denton turned in surprise to see an unfamiliar boy, perched on the stone beside him. </p><p>“Who…”</p><p>The boy tapped at the stone with one foot. </p><p>“That’s me.” <em> Sean Conlon. </em> The pieces clicked into place, and Denton could <em> almost </em>see the resemblance to a grumpy little cardinal he’d once known. </p><p>“Thanks for looking after her when I couldn’t.”</p><p>“Of course,” Denton found himself saying. </p><p>“Does this mean…”</p><p>Spot nodded. </p><p>“Everyone’s together. Sarah, David, Jack, Esther, Me, Mayer. Everyone.” </p><p>He smiled. </p><p>“We won. Finally. Took us long enough, but we won.”</p><p>“Yes,” Denton agreed, watching as the children were joined by a man and a woman, so familiar that they must have been the Jacobs’ parents. </p><p>“We certainly did.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>And the journey is done!<br/>Thank you so much to everyone who has read and commented on this fic, it means the world to me! I've spent so much time on each chapter of this, and though it doesn't get as many hits or interaction as some of my other fics, I truly believe this one is my best work.<br/>Thank you so much for reading along as I wrote, and commenting, interacting with me. It all just inspires me to keep writing.</p><p>Feel free to message me on tumblr @maggs-is-a-muppet, I'd love to talk with all of you!</p>
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